


Just keep moving forward

by roommate



Category: SHINee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 14:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1608464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roommate/pseuds/roommate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are only a few things that frighten Kibum more than the prospect of dyeing his hair green. (For <a href="http://shineesanta.livejournal.com/48088.html">shineesanta 2013</a>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It isn't much of a secret that Jonghyun strains his vocal chords. Most singers do, at one point or another, even if they try as carefully as possible not to push too hard, but when you've been training with SM for the longest time and you still haven't caught a break, it's difficult not to. There are long nights spent in practice rooms, running through a dance routine that will never be performed in front of people or trying to reach notes he can only dream of. There's Taemin trying to overcome his own voice and Jinki trying hard to cover the cracks in his voice with easy breathing. There's Minho saying sorry to the group for screwing up the routine, apologizing in behalf of his long libs. There's Jonghyun singing a particular part of a song again and again until his voice cracks.

Then Kibum grabs him by the wrist, looks at him in the eye and says, "Stop. You're going to break my eardrums." Later, with their backs against the cool mirror, Kibum says, "It's not in your key. Don't push it."

What does come as a shock, though, is that Jonghyun strains his vocal chords too hard that it fucks up the rest of his system and that he loses his chance to debut.

"I should have fucking listened," Jonghyun says now, legs pulled close to his chest. His voice is muffled but months of practicing alongside each other, breathing heavy and ragged, has taught Kibum this language. "Actually, I did; it was just too late. Now I've lost the chance to go up on stage and fucking sing my heart out and—"

Kibum places a hand on Jonghyun shoulder and rubs tentatively, pausing when Jonghyun freezes, but resuming when Jonghyun props his chin on his arms, eyes fixed on his shoes. "It's not yet the end," Kibum mumbles. He gives Jonghyun's arm a light squeeze.

It might as well be. Jonghyun has been singing since he was five, has been dreaming of being a singer and performing in front of everyone since he was eight. These staple stories only add to the amount of time and effort Jonghyun puts into each run of a song, each note, each sound that slips from his lips when they're asked to sing _something_. Jonghyun has been singing all his life. Singing is all Jonghyun has known, and now that it's been taken away from him, he knows nothing, not even himself.

"Sure it is," Jonghyun mumbles. He brushes Kibum off as he shrugs his shoulders lightly. Kibum does him a favor and lets his hand fall to his side. "What else would a person like me do?"

"Study? Work odd jobs? Get a part-time job in a music store or something? I don't know, man." And it's true — he doesn't know Jonghyun well enough to map out his life yet. Two years isn't enough to completely expose all of their secrets to each other in between vocal and dance practice and trying to catch a breath in the roofdeck. There's no secret trick to managing work, social life, and someone else's life at the moment. "You play the piano, right? Why don't you try composing?"

Jonghyun laughs a little. Five seconds until Jonghyun gives him a toothy grin, three until it registers to Jonghyun that he's going to laugh and it won't be a sight to behold. "I need to compose myself first."

Jonghyun erupts into a peal of laughter. His muscles relax and he stretches his legs and he throws his head back, beads of tears in the corners of his eyes as he chokes on his own laughter, and Kibum laughs in accord, slapping Jonghyun hard on the arm.

 

 

The news officially hits the four corners of the company when Heechul gets wind of it and immediately envelops Jonghyun in a bone-crushing hug.

"It's not the end of the world," Heechul says, voice unusually soft and sweet and maybe even a bit weird; Kibum hasn't heard him like this before, and even if he has he might have been too tired to even register a concern in Heechul's voice. "There's life outside of SM, you know what I'm saying? Hey, I know a few people who can get you into retail. Wanna give that a shot?"

"Thanks for the offer, but I think I don't want to go into the marketing side of things." Jonghyun laughs a little, trying to hide the awkward smile hanging from the corners of his lips as he weasels out of Heechul's one-armed hug. "I still want something music-related."

"SM-related," Heechul and Kibum chime at the same time. Taemin's having a hard time keeping it together.

"Composing sounds good," Jonghyun says, then turns to Kibum with wide eyes and a smile that says, _yes, I actually thought about what you said._ "I won't have to sing that much anymore but I'll be able to put my… skills to use?"

Heechul nods, contemplative. There's a small smile at the corner of his lips. "And who gave you the idea that you should even give that a shot?"

Jonghyun cocks his head to the left without even looking over his shoulder, hand reaching out instinctively to land on Kibum's wrist. Just a few more inches and he'd be shy of touching something else, but Jonghyun's good with rough estimates and distances — the distance from the dance practice room to the nearest comfort room, the distance between Jinki and Minho and how their being imbalanced in the formation gravely affects the rest of their performance. Kibum's shoulders from his, the distance they have to keep between themselves so that their bags don't bump against each other. Only on certain occasions does Jonghyun ever get his measurements wrong; approximating time is not part of his expertise.

Kibum raises his hand and Jonghyun yelps a little at the jerking motion. It's good to know that some things never change. Heechul turns to him with a toothy grin and says, "You're my new favorite." After a while, "Oops, gotta go!"

"So which composition do you think should I send as an _audition_?" Jonghyun asks later, on their way back from their break. He uses double quotes to add emphasis, but Kibum only shrugs and moves closer. Their shoulders bump from time to time. Kibum thinks about miscalculations and the uncertainty in Jonghyun's voice, the relief in Jonghyun's eyes when he hears Heechul say, _Hey, there's still hope._

"The one you used to sing while we packed up after dance practice," Kibum answers after a while. Jonghyun slows down in his steps, eyebrows furrowed when he turns to Kibum. "Y'know, the one about waking up from a dream and recovering from a break up."

"A.K.A. most of the songs I've composed."

Kibum laughs a little, bumps his shoulder into Jonghyun's. Jonghyun cackles, losing it completely, Jonghyun's song, scratchy and so undeniably _pre-debut_ , rings brightly in Kibum's ears.

 

 

The management finds a replacement for Jonghyun — another one of Jonghyun's friends, the one who goes by the name of Kim Joonmyun. His voice isn't anything like Jonghyun's, but he works hard and he has trained long enough, and there's the thirst to prove himself in the way he belts out notes, in the way he tries really, really hard to perfect each and every one of his lines, in the way he goes through the dance routine long after practice is over. It's sort of refreshing, this brand of enthusiasm, and it results to longer practices, shorter break times, bigger smiles at the end of the day. Joonmyun has that sort of effect on people — he pushes them hard, pushes himself harder to see if he can ever be any better.

"The new kid's good," Kibum mumbles. They're out in the rooftop. Jonghyun pleaded thirty minutes ago to meet there and alleviate the fatigue of being holed up the whole day in the music room, but practice ended just ten minutes ago; now, Jonghyun's sneezing. The cold almost always gets to him too fast. "Fine, he's not new and he's not a kid, but he's _new_ new and he's really determined—"

"— Driven."

"Yeah, that, and you just know he's passionate about singing. He's good at making friends, too, but he's not a complete pushover." Jonghyun cackles, but gestures for him to go on. "He managed to convince Minho to treat everyone to takoyaki and tteokbokki. I mean, _Minho_ of all people."

Jonghyun blows a puff of air, then shifts in his position so that they're facing each other. There's a hint of amusement in the way Jonghyun's eyes crinkle at the corners, in the way one side of Jonghyun's lips tugs up, lips protruding a little like he's about to say something but can't quite find the right words. "Minho, of all people," Jonghyun repeats, then nods slowly, thoughtfully, before continuing, "I'd say I have a great successor."

Kibum rolls his eyes. "Don't say that. He's nothing like you."

"But he is?" Jonghyun scratches the back of his head. The upward tug has turned into something more neutral; Jonghyun's lips have a life of their own and sometimes, only sometimes, Kibum wonders how it would be to suck out all of that. If he ever thinks of finishing kissing Jonghyun, he doesn't; instead, he swallows it all, musters a cackle. "He's a good friend of mine. I really won't mind if you suddenly upped and left me and—"

He moves two inches to his right and places his face towel between them. "Jonghyun," he says, an eyebrow raised, lips thinning into a straight line. "Jonghyun- _hyung_ , please stop pulling my leg."

Jonghyun tugs lightly at his wrist, almost helplessly. He manages to say through a mouthful of laughter, "Well I'm pulling your arm now."

Kibum shakes his head, like it can make things better, ease Jonghyun's mind and ease him back into the swing of things. Jonghyun's coughing now, pounding his chest hard, His cheeks are flushed and there are beads of tears at the corners of his eyes. Jonghyun always laughs like it's his last day on Earth.

"They accepted my application, by the way," Jonghyun mentions once he's caught his breath again. "Said I was promising and that I should thank my piano-playing skills because I write crappy lyrics. I told them I write from the heart and they fucking _laughed_ at me." Jonghyun pauses. He sounds more amused than affronted. He's weird, but Kibum has always liked his friends that way. "And then they said, _I like him. Kid has more backbone than any of the younger composers. That injury's a blessing in disguise._ "

"So what now?" Kibum asks. There's a slow-forming smile on Jonghyun's lips. He takes a deep breath.

Jonghyun flashes a v-sign at him, grins wide enough for Kibum to see his canines. They're blinding. "You're looking at the future Yoo Youngjin, mister."

 

 

A couple of weeks in, Joonmyun has made a room in their schedules faster than he can nail dance steps properly. "He's that kind of guy," Jinki says, shrugging, then leans back against the mirror. He winces as he makes contact with the cold surface, and Kibum just chuckles. "The kind that's hard to hate. It bothers me sometimes."

"I get that a lot," Joonmyun says, announcing his presence. Kibum chortles and aims for a high-five; Joonmyun's hand finds a fit in his. "It comes with years of practice."

"You've only been here for a year," Minho comments. Taemin elbows him in his side.

"Just like all of you." Joonmyun slips back into his standard smile. "We're not that different."

"Yeah, sure, whatever," comes a familiar voice. Kibum looks over his shoulder with practiced ease and sinks his cheek into the protruding bone when Jonghyun flashes a toothy grin at him. To Joonmyun, Jonghyun says, "They actually love you."

A light bump of the fist and Kibum feels his stomach lurch. It must be all the kimchi he's had for lunch.

Practice unfolds as usual, only Jonghyun's watching from the far end of the room, eyes focused on the expanse of mirrors in front of him. This isn't the first time Jonghyun has done this, or any of them, for that matter, but somehow it feels different with Jonghyun _not_ knowing the choreography, Jonghyun's vocals not soaring above the backing track, with Jonghyun's feet propped under his legs and his bangs falling over his eyes.

Kibum looks at the crack in the center where two mirrors meet. It's Taemin's dance break. Three quick breaths to recalibrate himself, eight counts until Joonmyun belts out beside him and Jinki's voice comes in, five seconds until Minho messes up the choreo again and accidentally steps on Kibum's foot when he makes a wrong turn.

Minho doesn't stop dancing. He meets Kibum's eyes briefly as if saying, _you can't just stand there, Kim_. Kibum picks up midway through the choreography and slides to the left, filling the gap between Taemin and Minho.

Jonghyun's gaze on him lingers.

 

 

They weren't kidding when they said the months leading up to debuting are nothing but complete torture. Joonmyun's hugging his legs close to his chest, and Jinki's slumped in a corner, breathing heavy and ragged. Taemin's sprawled on the floor, lying flat on his back, and Minho pops a pill in his mouth — possibly a paracetamol; he hasn't been feeling well these days. Kibum's the only one standing, hands on his hips, but he falls right into place with the beads of sweat rolling down his cheeks, his hair sticking to his face.

Minho throws a hand towel at him and Kibum catches it even before it can hit his face. He turns to Minho with a small smile and mumbles, "Thanks."

Jonghyun hasn't been around that much — he's seen Jonghyun only twice this week after practice, and that isn't even because Jonghyun leaves the building much earlier than they do. Some nights, Jonghyun spends sleeping on the floor of the music room; some, in a recording booth, trying to find his voice again, that sweet spot where he can hit the right notes the way he wants to. They don't get the leisure of using cellphones until months after debut, so Kibum relies heavily on timing — equal amounts of looking around, searching for clues, and intuition. And then there's Minho rubbing elbows with Super Junior and Jonghyun working on a track for them — it makes Kibum's life so much easier.

Minho pats the empty space beside him, and Kibum quickly turns to the source of the sound, cocking his head when he meets Minho in the eye. 'Sit," Minho says, loud enough for him to hear but soft enough that it doesn't stir Jinki from the slumber he's just drifted into.

"I'm not a dog," Kibum says in thoughtless retaliation but plops down, anyway. Their elbows bump. Kibum winces at the jolt of electricity coursing through his arm.

"Jonghyun-hyung's off early today. The track he worked on for Super Junior has finally been polished so he's essentially free today. And tomorrow. And all other days of the week, for that matter."

Kibum looks at Minho, doesn't fight the smile making its way to his lips, and leans against Minho's shoulder. Their arms are sticky with sweat and the lethargy hours of dance practice brings, but there's a promise of good things to come in the upward curve of Minho's lips, in the way he pats Kibum's hair and quickly lets his hand fall to his side before Kibum can even swat Minho's hand away.

"Wanna come?" Kibum asks. Casualty number two is Joonmyun who's now leaning against Jinki. Taemin's not too far off.

Minho chuckles lightly, does that thing again where he runs his fingers through Kibum's hair, but lets his touch linger. His fingers are cold. "Sure."

 

 

Minho slides beside Kibum right after practice. Jinki and Joonmyun excuse themselves for two more hours of vocal practice, and Taemin says he'll be staying behind to do a few more runs of the routine to see if there's anything that can be further improved.

"He should be here any second," Minho says once they've reached the roofdeck. The wind's blowing stronger than the usual, mussing up Minho's hair. Kibum reaches out, combs his fingers through the tuft, and Minho grins all too easily as he says, "I should get a haircut soon."

"Ask the management first if you can," Kibum chimes. His gaze shifts from the doorknob to his wristwatch and back again, then up at Minho when Minho doesn't make a sound. "Wow, we actually get to say that now. I mean, we're actually _debuting_. Can you believe that?"

Minho leans against the ledge and throws his head back. His eyes are closed and he's whistling, and Kibum gets impatient, annoyed when he's at the receiving end of these things. "A belated realization," Minho replies a a few minutes after. "Still in a state of shock, huh?"

"You don't get to ask me another question just because you answered mine, Choi."

"And you don't get to order me around." Minho sits up straight, pats the empty space beside him. "You've been extra weird since Jonghyun-hyung left."

_Left_ isn't exactly the best word to use in that sentence. Jonghyun never left — he's still here in the building, somewhere, in one of the rooms neither of them have probably ever been to. Jonghyun still walks down the same halls and breathes the same air and is still under the same company. He's anywhere in the confines of the building but beside Kibum and Minho and every other member of their group — SHINee's what they'll be called — and somehow the building, the world Kibum has moved around in for the past year, seems so big for a person so small like him.

"As if I can get any weirder." Kibum scoffs. "I'm just tired."

"You can't be tired when you half-ass the choreography."

Kibum shoots Minho _a look_ and snarls, "I never half-ass anything."

Minho chuckles — _laughs,_ like the sight of a snarling, growling Kibum is the most amusing thing since Jinki finally delivered a good joke. "Which is why," Minho begins, then moves closer, an inch or two, until their shoulders bump. The contact sends jolts of electricity down Kibum's arm. "— you're extra weird. Or an extra dose of _something_. It's okay to be sad, Kibum. I get sad. Taemin and Jinki-hyung get sad. Heck, even the perfect Joonmyun probably gets sad, too."

Kibum rolls his eyes. "You're just saying that to make me feel better."

Minho grins at him, too bright for nine in the evening. "And you finally admitted it."

Kibum stops, stares, and his jaw drops a few centimeters, and he hits Minho once twice _thrice_ on the arm until laughter begins to bubble on Minho's lips and Minho holds his arms up in defense. He yields, anyway, not bothering to counter Kibum's attacks, and Kibum notes the flush painting Minho's cheeks, the beads of tears at the corners of his eyes, the melody of his laughter and the way it makes Kibum's stomach lurch.

 

 

Jonghyun makes a brief appearance in the rooftop before rushing back to the music room, mumbling something about, _Oh, wait, inspiration. The muse is finally here! She's back, Kibummie! She's back!_ Kibum tries to understand — the rush, the thrill, the sheer importance of the return of a writing muse, the way a grin lights the corners of Jonghyun's lips when he starts humming a melody under his breath and gives Kibum a brief yet tight hug. "Well, that was quick," Minho supplies, and Kibum accidentally-on-purpose steps on Minho's foot on the way down.

"Wanna grab something to eat?" Minho asks. Kibum slows down almost instantly. "I'm kinda hungry."

Kibum feels for his stomach, hears it grumble in response, and Minho chuckles.

The trip to the nearest tteokbokki stall doesn't take long, but the cold wind almost makes it impossible to speed up their pace. Kibum's knees are shaking by the time they get to the stand, and he says too enthusiastically, "Tteokbokki!", like a battle cry just before the start of a war.

"You're paying?" Minho asks. He's grinning. Kibum hates that gum-baring smile.

"Only if you don't order another."

Minho shrugs, orders two servings of hotteok, and grins at Kibum as he bites off a piece of his tteokbokki.

 

 

Late night snacks with Minho becomes a daily practice. Sometimes, Taemin would join and order more than he can eat and make Kibum and Minho pay for the mess he's made. Sometimes, Joonmyun and Jinki would be with them and they'd be capping the night in a samgyupsal place, eating more tteokbokki than meat. Sometimes, they won't even order anything, just tread the streets of Gangnam and look at the people passing by, teenagers laughing their hearts out or young professionals looking crisp in their suits and tailored skirts. Minho will give him the luxury of silence and he'll give Minho the occasional glance in return.

"Y'know, if we headed home an hour ago, we'd be sleeping by now," Kibum says one time, halfway through their walking tour of Gangnam. He darts his tongue out a little to lick his lips, seethes when the cold wind blows at them. Beside him, Minho shivers. "And we won't have to deal with this _thing_. Where the hell are we going, Minho?"

"Here."

Minho gestures at the establishment to their left, a fancy-looking restaurant serving many different kinds of tteokbokki. "We'll have to share just one plate, though," Minho whispers.

Kibum looks at him, just looks at him with all the disbelief, shock, something akin to amazement that he can muster, lips slightly parted in a tiny 'o'. "It's fucking expensive here," he whispers, but Minho ushers him inside, anyway, and he has to clasp a hand over his mouth to keep himself from saying anything, like what he'll say will ruin it. "Why are you doing this," he adds after a while, when they're already seated inside. Minho hasn't looked up from the menu since they've arrived.

"Ya, Minho, why are you—"

Minho peeks from his bangs. "Because you're sad," he reasons out, then looks back at the menu after a while. "And I can't work with with sad people like you so I'm trying to make you happy."

"By buying my happiness? Wow, thanks."

"By feeding you your favorite post-practice food." Minho resurfaces, waving at the waitress and saying, "Two orders of this, please."

Kibum looks at Minho, then the menu, then the waitress, and blurts out, "And one kimchi jjigae, please." From the corner of his eye, he can see Minho's eyes go wide and the look of disbelief in his face. A smile comes all too easy to him when Minho begins to chuckle. "And water, lots of water. Thank you."

 

 

Countdown to debut: 2 months.

Taemin's more jittery than the usual, but give him a mug of hot chocolate and rub circles on his back and he'll be as good as new. Joonmyun's been driving himself harder than the usual, going for more runs of the routine after practice, but on weekends he leaves on the dot, as soon as practice is over. Jinki's the sanest of them all, but occasionally he'll screw things up and slip and he'll spend the next few minutes in the bathroom, splashing water on his face, breaths measured as he repeats to himself like a mantra, "It's okay. People make mistakes. You're going to be fine."

Kibum sits down beside Minho and stretches out his legs, then nudges Minho with his elbow. "How are you holding up?"

"Fucking nervous," Minho mumbles. His eyes are closed and his fists are balled and his breathing's still heavy from the last run they've done, but there's a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. _Weird,_ Kibum's mind registers, but he keeps his eyes fixed on Minho, anyway, waiting for the moment of surrender and Minho opening his eyes. "Like, really _fucking_ nervous. I-can't-eat kind of nervous. Tteokbokki's-gonna-make-me-shit-in-my-pants kind of nervous."

"Please don't shit on my favorite food," Kibum says. He reaches out, rubs small circles on the back of Minho's hand until Minho stirs and looks at him. "Tteokbokki. Dude, you're so out of it."

Minho cocks his head, looks at him in the eye, then at his hand clamped on Minho's own, then back up until their eyes meet. Kibum retracts his hand slowly, keeps a straight face. He adds annoyance to the mix — a light upward tug of the eyebrow, a downward tug of the lips, a small puff of air as he rolls his eyes and tucks his hands under his legs and shakes his head. "It's official — you're crazy."

A few slow nods and Minho's back, eyes glimmering with — determination? A renewed sense of purpose? Some magic word for 'debut'? He pushes himself up from the floor and extends a hand in Kibum's direction once he's back on his feet. "Come on, you're going through the choreo with me again. You're dragging your foot to the next beat right after the chorus. You're pulling us down."

"Well, sorry for my long legs."

Jinki steps back inside the practice room just in time. "Can we not talk about long legs, please? That's a sensitive topic."

Minho snorts, face contorting into something kind of unattractive. His bangs fall to his eyes. Kibum takes the extended hand and doesn't reach for Minho's hair, doesn't brush off the stray strands so he can see Minho's big eyes and the crinkles at the corners. He takes a deep breath and counts to ten.

He reaches for music player at the same time that Minho does. Minho's smile is unsettling, and so is the lurching sensation in his stomach.

 

 

Kibum marks off the days leading to debut — a check mark for days when practice ends early, an 'x' for when the end at twelve midnight. Yellow circles are for those when he stays long after practice is over, doing extra runs of their dance or practicing his lines, eyes fixed on his reflection on the mirror. He's been trying to come up with different facial expressions recently — those that are easier to be drawn to, something softer than the classic raise of the eyebrow or the sidetracked grin.

And then there are days marked with a pink triangle — the nights he spends eating way too much tteokbokki with Minho in a stall, faces going hot ten minutes into their eating binge.

"I don't get the fuss about hotteok," Kibum confesses one time. He bites the tip of the tteok tentatively, testing the temperature before removing it from the stick with his teeth. "I mean, it's good and all, but it's just a pancake. It's _normal_."

Minho draws his hotteok closer to his side of the plate and frowns visibly. "Tteokbokki's normal by Korean standards. Why don't you try putting your favorite tteok inside the _pancakes_ to make it different, huh?"

"Wow. Are you actually getting defensive over food?"

Minho pokes one slice of tteok with a stick, lips quirking into a grin. "Look, Kibum, we need to talk."

It all happens in a flash — Minho drawing his fingers along the length of Kibum's jaw, Minho taking the piece of hotteok's he's sliced earlier and popping it inside Kibum's mouth _then_ adding tteokbokki to the mix, Minho _gently_ snapping Kibum's jaw shut and tapping his index finger on Kibum's nose lightly while saying, " _Eat._ "

Kibum's stuck _somewhere_ , his teeth digging into the soft tteok, tongue grazing the hotteok lightly, and he automatically cringes, snarls through a mouthful of food, and chews until the mix is soft enough for swallowing. He catches Minho's gaze drop to his lips, the column on his neck when he swallows. He can feel his heartbeat definitely on the base of his throat — it's quick, heavy beats pounding against his skin, ringing in his ears.

"So?" Minho asks, eyes locked back on Kibum's own. Kibum gulps hard.

"It wasn't too bad."

Minho lets out a small, triumphant sound, raising fist in celebration. Never mind that the lady who's serving them tteokbokki's looking at them silly and laughing at them, or that Minho has some red sauce on his white shirt, or the fact that hotteok actually tastes good — Kibum's heart is still racing in his chest at an abnormally fast pace.

He sinks his teeth into a slice of tteok and watches as Minho wheezes, feels around for a glass of water.

He likes it.

 

 

A week until debut. A crazy week of preparations and last-minute polishes, of impromptu vocal lessons in the halls and rooftops and on the way home. Minho's been trying free verse rapping recently, rapping whatever comes to mind, and Kibum takes it upon himself to pick out the flaws in Minho's lyrics, to spot the holes, to improve on whatever Minho can give, to take it, and make something golden out of it. "You're having too much fun with this," Minho says after a while, as Kibum punctuates his thought process with nodding and a small smile. "I'm serious, you're loving this whole _Minho's-at-my-mercy_ thing."

"I plan to conquer the world someday," Kibum replies, grinning as Minho rolls his eyes at him. "Well, what are you waiting for. Do that thing again, that—"

Minho shrugs but parts his lips, anyway, poised to rap. Kibum closes his eyes. The beginning is marked by Minho exhaling loudly; the end, Minho's hand warm around his wrist. The joint piece is about trying hard until there's nothing else in sight but the road to the top and Minho nails the performance, stressing on the right parts, drawing out the syllables of the keywords, all without missing a beat.

"You like it," Minho says soon after. It's not a question — there is no uncertainty beneath Minho's ragged breathing. Kibum begins to wonder when he's begun to be so predictable, _easy._ "Gonna bet my life on that, Kibum. Come on, tell me you liked it."

Kibum gets back to his feet and locks his arms behind his back. "Well, it was good. Better than the previous version."

"Oh, _come on!_ "

Kibum supplies a straight answer over a shared serving of tteokbokki _and_ hotteok, when he slips a piece of tteok between Minho's lips. Minho doesn't ask why, doesn't do anything but stare at him for at least ten seconds, and Kibum keeps his eyes fixed on the red sauce draped all over the tteok, on the steaming hot pancakes in front of them, on Minho's fingers drumming on the flat surface in front of them, merely centimeters from Kibum's own.

 

 

And then, there's the night of the debut.

They finish at half past seven in the evening, and Taemin does a pirouette, accidentally slams his leg into Jinki's ass. Jinki goes off-balance, and Joonmyun makes the mistake of trying to salvage whatever is left of Jinki's equilibrium. Soon, the three are a heap of limbs on the floor, and Joonmyun's laughing into the crook of Jinki's neck, and there's a deep flush tainting Jinki's cheeks.

Kibum looks twice, thinks twice about approaching the crime scene, until Minho walks past him and offers a hand to the fallen trio. In a split second, Jinki yanks at Minho's wrist, pulls him down, and Minho's laughing his heart out, the rich tone bouncing off the corners of the room.

Kibum joins the war by shooting water at the other members. Minho, halfway through getting back on his feet, slips and tugs at the hem of Kibum's shirt way too hard.

The next Kibum sees is an expanse of blue and his fingers splayed all over Minho's chest. He looks up, tentatively, and he's met with Minho's eyes, wide and inquiring. _What are you looking at,_ Kibum wants to say, but there's something lodged in his throat, keeping all the air from reaching his lungs, making him ball his fists and relax them and clench them again.

"We're gonna leave you two there if you're planning to cuddle on the floor," Joonmyun says.

Kibum turns to look in Joonmyun's direction — since when have they gotten back on their feet? He pushes himself off of Minho, dusts himself off, reaches for the nearest water bottle to take a sip or a gulp or to drink the content all the way down.

"I'll run through the thing after the chorus with Kibum for a while," Minho says. To Jinki, he grins and adds, "We'll be done in thirty minutes max, I _promise._ "

Minho never breaks promises. "Yeah," Kibum affirms. "I just need to make sure Minho doesn't fuck up tomorrow."

Taemin cackles and quickly clasps a hand over his mouth.

"I'll make this quick," Minho says as soon as the door locks.

He turns to Kibum, a small yet nice pirouette, and grabs Kibum by the wrist. Kibum takes a deep breath. This isn't part of the choreo, Kibum thinks — if they're at the chorus, they're supposed to be popping their knees up, pushing themselves back as they bring their hands together over their knees. They should be dragging the tip of their right foot as they turn to the left, then back to the right, index finger pointing up. They should just be beside each other, not this close, too close that he can smell the scent of sweat in Minho's hair, that he can trace the pimples lined along Minho's jaw if he wanted to.

"Nothing will change after this," Minho whispers. Kibum nods, swallowing hard. He worries his lower lip.

Minho leans in until their lips meet. It's an awkward, uncomfortable angle, and Kibum tries to find a better fit, cocking his head to the left. Minho curls a hand on his nape and Kibum's breath hitches, and he half-seethes, half-gasps, half-submits himself into the touch and half-holds himself back as he balls his fists in his side. Minho licks at the seams of his lips, testing the waters, and Kibum parts them almost automatically, sucking Minho's tongue before granting him full access. _This_ isn't juvenile, nor is it terribly unrehearsed, but it _is_ something, the word for which escaping Kibum's lips entirely, gets swallowed by Minho as Minho licks the cavern of his mouth, then sucks on his bottom lip, then sucks all the air out of him.

There's a string of saliva connecting them when they pull away. Kibum's breathing is heavy, ragged. His chest feels heavy; his lips, unbearably light.

"Let's go," Minho says after a while. Kibum nods, takes off without another word, but catches the sight of Minho touching his own lips, fingers dancing on the bottom lip, a ghost of a smile appearing at the corners.


	2. Chapter 2

Debut stage isn't as daunting as it seems. Nobody slipped or screwed up or went flat, they all remembered their lines, and Kibum's rehearsed English greeting came out better than expected. He'd stolen Minho's _The Little Prince_ book earlier and read the whole time they were in the van, and despite Minho tucking his chin on his shoulder he'd managed to focus and figure out the meaning of some difficult words using only context clues. _Essential_ means important, something you hold dear. _Invisible_ is something that escapes vision or someone's attention. To tame means to offer a piece of yourself in return for a piece of someone else. Minho's drool pooling on his shoulders means it was a good call to get out of stage clothes before heading back to the company for another dance practice.

"Hey." Kibum nudges Minho once the van comes to a halt. "Get up, sleepyhead."

Minho stirs, blinks a few times before looking up at him. His lips are plump and pink and inviting. Kibum transfers his weight to his right arm, pushing Minho to the other side, and Minho pulls away with an easy smile.

They haven't talked nor broached the subject of last night's kiss on their way to the recording or midway through takes, in the van or even in between schedules. Minho's retreated to smiles and nudges; Kibum, to his headphone slung over his shoulder, music loud enough for Jinki who's in the front row to hear. "We won't wait for you forever," Jinki calls out to them, and Minho finally gets back to his feet and descends the van, extends a hand in Kibum's direction to help him get down.

Kibum's mind goes back to the accident, the mistake of spraying water all over Jinki and Joonmyun and Taemin and the floor, all over Minho. He recalls the easy tug at the hem of the shirt, the bright blue of Minho's top, Minho's breathing heavy against his chest. The soft feel of Minho's lips on his, the clashing on tongues, the light, tentative nip on the lower lip before Minho let go with a loud exhale.

He holds onto the arm rest, instead, on his way down.

Minho doesn't prod but stays within a three-foot perimeter when the choreography permits, and Kibum's generous with pats on the back as he has always been. Nothing has changed. Nothing needs to change — they've made an agreement — but at the back of his mind, as he catches Minho looking from across the room, there's a small voice saying, whispering, _we could be more._

Kibum shakes his head, rounds up everyone for one last run of the routine. Ten minutes 'til nine in the evening. Ten minutes 'til he dives head first into an old habit and indulges in street food with Minho again. A whole eternity of uncertainty stretched between them.

 

 

Kibum doesn't know how the company gets wind of information sometimes, but he can't complain when he's being handed a brief on how to conduct good radio shows and when he's sitting beside Super Junior's Ryeowook, rubbing elbows with one of the idols he's looked up to for the longest time. It isn't even the main event yet — Ryeowook's just taking him through the basics of radio hosting, voice modulation and making sure to use a register one note lower than his usual voice to make sure he sounds good on air — but already he can feel a tingling sensation making its way to his toes, setting off explosions at the tips of his fingers.

He almost drops the script when Ryeowook hands it over. "Hey, relax," Ryeowook says, rubbing circles on the back of his hand. Beyond the sound booth, Jinki and Minho hold two thumbs up and mouth, _Don't screw up!_

Jinki's leadership style isn't exactly the type that would make you follow blindly or the one that's so impressive that it gets discussed in their hostings, but it works. He keeps them on a tight-enough leash so that they won't do anything that will bring them harm, but loose enough that they don't think of sneaking out way past midnight. Jinki's the I'll-reward-you-with-pizza-if-you-follow-my-rules type of leader, the type who'd say _Don't give me the bullshit, Kim Kibum, so tell me where you and Minho went after practice_ with a grin that reaches his eyes. Jinki's both a friend and a leader, and it kind of helps when Kibum's in the mood to be more of a kid and less of an adult, more of a boy wondering why he's standing onstage or behind a condenser microphone in a recording booth and less of an idol winning over hearts with a practiced smile.

 _I'm fucking nervous,_ he mouths right back. To Jinki in particular, he says, _I don't want to be here! Save me!_

Kibum knows that laugh — it begins with Jinki giggling, then cackling, then eventually he'd laugh out loud with his mouth wide open, totally unbecoming of an idol who has just debuted, but at least Minho's there to share the embarrassment when Minho loses it completely, laughing in accord as he slaps Jinki's arm hard.

 _You'll be fine,_ Minho assures, then adds later, _Trust me._ A small smile punctuates his statement. Jinki's just begun to regain his composure.

 _You sure?_ Kibum asks. He clutches the script close to his chest.

Minho winks at him and replies, _Of course._

Minho's vote of confidence does very little to address the butterflies in his stomach, but Kibum's voice shakes less than expected at the beginning of the program, and he's able to fill the gaps between silences with well-timed laughter and the occasional comment complementing Ryeowook's own. At the end of the program, Ryeowook gives him a tight hug, whispers in his ear, "You're a natural," and nods thoughtfully at him. "How would you want to be a… semi-regular guest?"

"But hyung—" Kibum shakes his head. "Sunbaenim, can you actually _do that?_ I mean—"

"I'll have to consult the staff, but yeah, I'm sure they saw your potential, as well." The smile on Ryeowook's lips widens. "So, what do you think?"

He thinks about the rush of excitement as he talks into the microphone, the sense of belonging as he indulges in questions from fans, as he raps and sings and basically does all these idol things on air. He thinks about Jinki's enthusiastic arm-waving, the two thumbs up Jinki gives him, the soft smile on Minho's lips and Minho's words — _You'll be fine; trust me._ — ringing brightly in his ears.

"Sounds fun," he replies, _confesses._ He bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from grinning. "It would be an honor, sunbaenim."

Ryeowook gives him a pat on the back. Kibum gives up the fight, lets a smile surface on his lips.

 

 

Three months into _Replay_ promotions, they're finally given mobile phones by the company. The first text he receives is from Jinki, one containing all of their contact numbers. Joonmyun goes for the standard nomenclature for his address book, and Jinki adds a bit of flair, adding symbols to the start of the name for those he'll be contacting regularly. Taemin uses pet names that can be as simple as _Leejin-hyungie~☆_ and as questionable as _Minonono-hyungie~☆★☆_

"So is the number of stars after our names symbolic of how much you like us?" Minho asks. Taemin shrugs, flashes a v-sign at them, and promptly goes to the bedroom.

The first ever message he sends is to Jonghyun.

 _hey it's kibum. sorry, been really busy these days. what's up?_ It's a fairly safe message, but the lack of smileys makes it sound stiff, maybe even forced. He adds a smiley at the end, deletes it, types it again, and plays a scenario in his head, one where Jonghyun stares at the text he receives for the longest time before replying twenty minutes after, _ey bud, what's poppin._

Kibum hits send, lays his phone flat on the table, and goes off to the kitchen to make himself coffee.

When he returns, there are two missed calls and three messages, all from Jonghyun — _hey i was just about to text you!!_ is the first; the second, _how are you? haven't heard from you in forever. how's idol life huuuh? kekeke_ And then, finally, _you free for coffee sometime?_

 _i don't know,_ he begins to type, but he's rudely interrupted by Jonghyun's name flashing on his screen and a strong, upward tug on the corners of his lips.

"Hey."

 

 

It doesn't take much to get back on track with his friendship with Jonghyun. Jonghyun was never truly gone; he was just somewhere else, doing other things, immersed in a life not entirely different from the one Kibum lives at the moment. Daily texts allow for regular, sometimes sporadic updates on each other's lives; calls give him a sneak peek on what Jonghyun's working on — a track for the girl group debuting the following year.

"It should give off a mysterious vibe, something that isn't too dark but isn't too pop, either. You know what I mean?"

"You're getting there." Kibum props his phone between his cheek and his shoulder as he crouches in front of the fridge, searching for his tub of yogurt. "Something's missing, though? It lack an… _oomph._ "

"What do you mean it lacks 'oomph'? It has a lot of 'oomph'."

"You asked for my opinion, right?" Kibum moves some food containers to the side and moves on to searching the topmost shelf when he doesn't find the tub. "I'm just saying, it could be better. Something's missing."

"Were you looking for your yogurt?"

"Jong— _What?_ "

The tub dangles precariously in front of him and he looks up, narrowing his eyes when he sees Minho's smile, too wide at the corners, looking down at him. "I'll get back to you on that 'oomph'," he says into the receiver and slowly puts his phone down, Jonghyun's voice still blaring through the speakers of his phone.

"Was that Jonghyun-hyung?"

"Is that my yogurt?"

Minho giggles. "I was trying to detoxify myself. Y'know, getting rid of all the stress."

Kibum raises an eyebrow. He's not backing down from this fight.

He takes a few steps forward, a small smile hanging loosely from the corners of his lips. Minho's grin grows bigger — he's doing that gummy smile again, the type that just pulls you in and keeps you hooked, keeps you staring and smiling and sends you laughing minutes after. Kibum bites the inside of his cheek as a precaution and inches forward, closer, until Minho's less than a foot away. There's a challenge written in the way Minho raises an eyebrow, in the way he drums his fingers on the counter and says, "Well, what are you gonna do now?" Minho's urging him to come closer, to push the limits and push him against the kitchen counter, and Kibum isn't the type of person to back down.

"Give it back," Kibum says. He points an accusing finger at Minho as he repeats, this time more slowly, "Give it back, Choi Minho, or you'll regret the day you stole my yogurt."

Minho dangles the tub in front of Kibum one more time before withdrawing his hand and resting the tub on the counter. "Well, then, take it back from me."

Kibum reaches forward, snaking his hand past Minho's defenses and aiming straight for the tub, but nothing ever goes his way — Minho blocks his attack and catches Kibum's hand, wraps his fingers around the balled fist. Minho pulls him to his chest and wraps his arms around Kibum. Minho laughs in his ear like the sound of defeat isn't deafening enough, and Kibum tries to fight back, tries to grab the tub and make a run for it while Minho's distracted, but the warm press of their bodies and Minho's giggles tickling his scalp make him swallow every inch of resolve.

"Give it back, Choi," he tries again. Minho's laughter still rings in his ears.

 

 

Kibum first cries onstage when they receive the Newcomer of the Year award.

It doesn't register at once, the sound of _SHINee_ being called onstage to receive the award, the group being deemed as the best new artist of 2008. Jinki's gaping so hard at their name on the screen and Taemin's so close to losing it, and Joonmyun's been crying since the nominations were announced. Minho's eyes are shining in the bright stage lights, and Kibum's taking deep breaths, looking at the fans cheering for them, chanting _SHINee! SHINee! SHINee!_ all with tears in their eyes.

Minho passes the microphone to him and he checks Jinki, gives him a good luck before turning to the crowd with a big smile and saying, "Annyeonghaseyo! We are SHINee!"

Joonmyun and Jinki are a mess of tears but they raise their fists, anyway, body moving on its own accord in response to Kibum's chant. Taemin's laughing now, but there are still beads of tears at the corners of his eyes. Minho isn't touching anyone, hands kept to himself, and Kibum reaches for his hand, mouthing at him, _Hey. it's okay to cry._

"Not gonna cry," Minho mumbles. As soon as he's done with his speech, he bursts into tears.

It isn't so much the sight of the award being handed to them that makes him tear up but the sight of four idols slipping out of their personas and back into their normal selves, stripped of all the glamour of make-up and studio lights. He brushes away a tear, and then another, and Minho turns to him with a wide grin and tears streaming down his cheeks, takes him in his arms until Kibum's face is in his chest.

"Gonna soil your suit," Kibum says, muffled. He can feel Minho's laughter against his cheek.

Minho buries his nose in Kibum's hair. "Don't care."

 

 

The news of a new concept for SHINee reaches Kibum earlier than it does Jinki. "I'm not saying it's confirmed, but there's a 70% chance that it's true," Jonghyun reiterates. There's a hint of a warning in the undertone of his voice, and Kibum tries not to read too much into it. "But you know, just… brace yourself for what is to come."

"You're freaking me out."

"I'm preparing you for the onslaught of suspenders." A suppressed shriek, then something falling in the background. Months later and Jonghyun's still clumsy, still has no sense of balance when he's offstage. "Oops, you didn't hear that from me!"

Kibum knows when Jonghyun's hiding something. He hasn't spent two years just staring at the space between Jonghyun's eyes and not wondering if Jonghyun has ever contemplated on getting glasses with a lighter frame, or let his eyes travel south and land on Jonghyun's lips, the upward curl of the corners, the sharp angles of his jaw and the way his Adam's Apple bobs up and down when he talks too loudly or sings too much.

"Just one important question — will they be dyeing my hair green."

Jonghyun cackles. "Not green."

Kibum closes his eyes. 'Shit."

 _Not green_ is Jonghyun's way of saying that yes, they're dyeing your hair, but it won't be that bad. It means the start of a new era, of Kibum being forced to get out of his safe zone and being thrust into a world where his hair could possibly get damaged and can never be restored to its former glory. He isn't afraid of change; he just doesn't like the concept of it. There are things that he sticks to, practices he's grown accustomed to that he still observes years into being a young adult, and he believes that pitch black hair is as good as donning bling to amp up an otherwise drab outfit.

"Blond? Pink?"

Jonghyun makes a noncommittal sound and Kibum threatens to drop the call. Jonghyun only laughs in reply and says, "Be patient. I know it's different, but I'm sure you'll like it."

And then, there it is — a harbor, Jonghyun slipping back into his 2007 self, concern and the promise of hope in the undertone of Jonghyun's voice. "I'll skin you alive if I don't," Kibum replies, and Jonghyun erupts into a peal of laughter, the once shrill sound Kibum has come to despise especially at two in the morning wrapping around him like a quilt. He closes his eyes, imagines his hair in bright yellow or pink or red, or maybe even brown, and drags Minho into the mess, as if Minho wearing his hair green can ever make things better.

Kibum snorts, cackles. Green-haired Minho's snarling in his brain, complaining about his hair color being _too bright._ Other-Kibum reaches out to ruffle green-haired Minho's new do. The feeling of the soft, bright strands between his fingers is strangely comforting.

 

 

One of the blessings of being a new group is that the management won't ask you to do crazy things just yet. Play a bit on the safe side, give the fans what they want. SHINee World wants men in crisp white polos and colored pants, and that's what they'll get.

"Dibs on green," Jinki announces, and Taemin automatically hits him on the arm. Jinki grins, canines peeking, and Joonmyun just shrugs as he says, "I'll take yellow, then." Taemin goes for the safest pick — black, because it also makes him look at least three years less of a guilty pleasure, and Minho quickly claims blue, even adding that it's always been his favorite color.

"And not just blue," Joonmyun comments, raising a hand. " _Cerulean_ blue. You know Minho, he can be very particular—"

"Blue is SHINee's color," Minho reasons out.

Jinki chuckles. "You mean, _Pearlescent Sky Blue._ "

Kibum loses it completely, slapping Jinki hard on his thighs.

The pressure of being SM's next big thing is much more bearable with all the support from the fans, but sometimes it takes Taemin's soft snores to calm Kibum down or Joonmyun periodically checking up on them and making sure they take their vitamins to make Kibum believe that everything, despite the packed schedule and the very little amount of rest they get, is still worth it. Then there's Jinki sitting him down at the end of the week to ask him if he's okay, how he's holding up, _How's Jonghyun? I mean, you're probably the one he talks to the most amount the members_ , _Are you still happy with this job?_

A small voice at the back of Kibum brains answers with complete honesty, "I'm still having fun, and that's what's important." What he says, instead, is, "I'm good. Could be better, but hey — not everyone gets to debut."

Jinki enunciates again, this time putting more stress on the last word, "Are you still _happy?_ "

He thinks about thousands of fans screaming his name, fans holding up fansigns with _KEY_ written in bright, bold letters. He thinks about four other members traveling alongside him from one schedule to another, thinks about Taemin preparing him peanut butter sandwich on the off chance that he feels like it, thinks about Joonmyun dragging him out for samgyupsal after a long recording session or vocal practice. He thinks about Jinki's gentle smile and the large hand on the small of his back, steadying him after a long day at work. He thinks about Minho drooling on his shoulder after spending more than an hour in the van.

Kibum nods slowly and looks up at Jinki, meeting him in the eye. "Yes. Yes, I am."

 

 

Preparations for comeback mostly involve longer hours in the practice rooms and sore throats at the end of the week. Taemin's wearing a mask, and Kibum has taken it upon himself to design it with something as close as possible to Taemin's personality — a Jigglypuff with even bigger eyes and a pronounced pout. Taemin had only ever asked _Why didn't you draw Pikachu, instead?_ and Joonmyun chimed even before Kibum could answer, "Because you don't have an electrifying personality?"

"I'll draw a Ditto on your mask, hyung," Taemin retorts. "And you'll regret it."

Joonmyun grins. "At least I can be anyone I want to be."

They're transitioning from noona-bait to adults stepping out of their shell. _Fitting,_ Kibum thinks as he snaps the suspenders to his belt. Loose bands holding them back from stripping onstage, crossing over at the back to keep them in check. Nothing good ever comes out of rushing things — Jinki has taught him this, constantly reminds him about this. So Kibum says, "I want to be a Charizard."

"Dragonite's cousin who'll never be a dragon," Minho comments from behind him. Instinctively, Kibum nudges Minho with his elbow hard enough to earn a yelp. Minho's laughter gets choked by the sound of pain. "But we all know Charizard is the best. A show of hands for those who believe otherwise."

Jinki raises his hand all too quickly. "Sorry, I'll always be a Bulbasaur fan."

It's these little differences that make SHINee an interesting group, a good dose of _different_ without being too weird, a balance between normal and dynamic. A contemporary group, that's what they've always been called, and Kibum cannot agree more — no one has ever belted out the Pokemon theme on stage during a ment for a mini concert, or acted out Snow White and the Seven Dwarves (four, in their case, though Minho can easily pass as three dwarves in one). It's taken him a couple of months to ease into this sort of change — a new face in the form of Joonmyun, Jonghyun's warmth not pressed to his side, a newfound fondness for hotteok, the admission of fear and the feeling of inadequacy — but standing here, in front of four other people who share the same belief that this _works_ makes the concept of change easier to digest.

"Bulbasaur never got a cover," Kibum teases. Jinki turns to him with a big grin.

"Green version had Venusaur in it."

A smile lights the corners of Kibum's lips. He doesn't fight it, just shakes his head and laughs at his defeat.

 

 

Jonghyun texts one time — _mte me in d ruftop 5misn_

The timing is good. Dance practice has just finished and Jinki has decided that it's best to retreat to the comforts of their dorm instead of going out for dinner. Minho shoots Kibum a look that says, _Tteokbokki?_ , and Kibum scrunches his nose, flashes his phone at Minho before excusing himself. His stomach grumbles, loud and clear, and he makes a mental note to send Minho a text as soon as he reaches the rooftop. Jonghyun's almost always late, anyway.

 _gonna take u up on that offer but can we pls have samgyupsal too,_ Kibum texts, then slips his phone back in his pocket as soon as the message gets sent. He turns the knob and smiles automatically at the sight of a familiar silhouette hunched against the ledge of the rooftop.

"Aren't you freezing out there?" Kibum asks, steps slow, measured. He shivers when the cold wind blows. Jonghyun's unperturbed. "Hey, did you freeze or something? It's not funny, Jonghyu—"

The lights in the rooftop are bright enough to illuminate Jonghyun's key features — sharp eyes, thick eyebrows, a peculiar curl at the curve of the lip. There are dark circles under Jonghyun's eyes and his eyes are red, and Jonghyun's nose is red, and his lips are tugged down.

"All my compositions for the girl group got scrapped," Jonghyun finally says. His shoulders give away, and Kibum walks closer, squeezes Jonghyun's arm lightly. "They said the songs weren't good enough. That _I'm_ not good enough. And it really would have been fine, y'know, if they didn't put it that way. I know there's always something to be improved, but—"

Kibum takes a deep breath, brushes Jonghyun's tears away with his thumbs. A sharp pain in his chest, then the wind blows and it's all gone. "Take a deep breath. Then kick them in the balls. Then shove a better composition in their faces."

Jonghyun musters a chuckle. "You just agreed that my compositions were trash. Why do I even keep you around?"

Kibum laughs a little, ruffles Jonghyun's hair despite knowing that Jonghyun hates it. "Because—"

Because this is convenient. Having Kibum around is convenient, in the same way that having Jonghyun around when times get tough is convenient. They've trained together for two years, been friends for three, and when dancing alongside each other and keeping each other posted through daily texts becomes a habit, it's hard to suddenly shift gears and slip into a fit of change all too abruptly. Jonghyun is the warm quilt Kibum can wrap around himself when change consumes him, when he feels that he's losing himself to fame and fortune and to his lack of resolve when it comes to keeping a safe distance from Minho. Jonghyun is the road all-too-frequently traveled.

"Because we're friends," Kibum finishes. "And friends stick together no matter what."

Jonghyun takes a deep breath.

It only takes a second for Jonghyun to reach up and trace the length of Kibum's face, and another for Kibum to shiver at the contact, Jonghyun's cold fingers running a sharp line through his features. "And friends don't do this," Jonghyun whispers, then pulls Kibum down, meeting him halfway when he leans forward and presses their lips together.

Kibum has rehearsed this scene in his head at least a hundred times — he'd imagined explosions at the back of his eyelids and fanfare in the background, imagined Jonghyun curling a hand at the back of his neck, but none of those. Jonghyun holds him from an uncomfortable, awkward angle, but the warm press of his mouth is comforting, soothing. _Home,_ Kibum thinks, but his mind goes back to that moment of surrender with Minho — clashing of teeth and tongue, their chests heavy, breathing ragged. A violent breath of change that Kibum has come to inhale and fill his lungs with.

He pulls away slowly, fingers cold on Jonghyun's collarbones. "Friends… don't do that," he repeats, and Jonghyun nods, lets his hands fall to his sides, stares at him for a good five seconds before getting back to his feet.

"I think the muse is back," Jonghyun says. There's a small smile at the corner of his lips.

Kibum returns the smile. He doesn't fake the knowing look in his eyes; there's no need to fake anything with Jonghyun. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he feels a stronger tug at the corners of his lips.

"Glad to know."

 

 

Suspenders era turns out to be one of the best eras they've gone through.

Promotions for _Love Should Go On_ weren't as bad as they'd initially thought despite the baggy pants, but promotions for _Love Like Oxygen_ earn them a mutizen on their comeback. Jinki's more composed now, but his voice still cracks when he holds the award close to his chest. Joonmyun's having a hard time keeping it together but, somehow, Taemin bawling behind him makes the whole trying-not-to-cry act easier. Minho's eyes are watery, and a sneaky tear drop cascades down Kibum's cheek when he smiles at the end of Jinki's speech.

"Getting there," Minho whispers in Kibum's ear. "Just a little more. Want to deliver a speech?"

He elbows Minho in his side. "Is that a challenge?"

Fearlessness is a concept Kibum has long wrapped himself with, so he extends his hand in Jinki's direction, asking for the microphone. Jinki widens his eyes at him, furrows his eyebrows, before finally yielding, surrendering the mic to Kibum. "We wouldn't be here if not for you, SHINee World," Kibum begins, and despite the strong resolve to keep his tears at bay, he takes a punch straight to the gut when the cheers grow louder, when he hears a collective, well-timed _Saranghae!_ from the fans.

He pulls the microphone down, determined to finish his speech, but the chants of _Don't cry, don't cry, Key!_ only aggravate the situation, poke at his tear ducts as a tear falls down his cheeks — then another, and another. Minho pulls him into a one-armed hug and there it is — a wave of emotions, of relief and happiness and fulfillment all rolled into one, an acceptance of weakness and defeat.

"We love you, SHINee World!" Minho says into the microphone, and bursts into tears. Kibum chuckles, laughs, the sound muffled in Minho's chest.

 

 

It's a string of victories from there — Kibum finally earning a radio show of his own, Taemin landing a role in a drama, Jinki getting a screenplay stint, Joonmyun being given a chance to record a song with SNSD's Taeyeon. Minho accepts offers for guestings in various variety shows — "Whose idea was it to even cast you there, anyway?" Kibum said when news got out. "You don't even have an interesting personality." — and lands a few cameo roles in dramas, as well. _Love Like Oxygen_ manages to get three mutizens. Now, they're being primed for the recording of their repackage album.

"Please don't tell me we're wearing gold pants instead of the colored pants."

Joonmyun frowns. "I like gold."

It's another transition period, though, from crisp white polos to street fashion in preparation for the dark concept they'll be doing for 2010. They get to pick their own clothes this time, and Kibum quickly comes to Joonmyun's aid while Joonmyun goes through the articles of clothing, frowning when he can't find a nice, comfortable polo, or a warm sweatshirt. Taemin laughs at them because _old people find it so hard to change;_ Jinki looks at Taemin sternly but smiles at him, anyway. It's always a weird, unsettling mix, but it gets the job done.

Minho tosses a printed shirt in Joonmyun's direction, a pair of leather pants, then points at the high-cut boots nearby. "Street fashion enough for you?" He asks, facing Kibum. "Do I have the fashion expert's approval?"

Joonmyun holds the top and the pants close to him, squinting as Kibum eyes him from head to toe. "Not bad, Choi. Not bad."

They finish picking last, long after they've convinced Joonmyun that prints aren't entirely bad and do, in fact, suit his body type and style. Taemin's already excused himself thirty minutes ago to do some catching up with some of the trainees, saying, "It's a weekend; we _can_ rest, right?" Jinki doesn't question what they're still up to despite the already neatly folded clothes beside them, only reminds them to not stay out too late because they won't be getting this much sleep in the next few months.

They flash two thumbs up at Jinki simultaneously and end up in a mess of laughter before Jinki waves them off and closes the door behind them.

There's nothing but the clothes racks surrounding them, nothing but mirrors on all sides of the room and bright lights and the sound of a pop song from the practice room nearby. Minho's got his feet propped under his legs. They've long evacuated the floors and settled on the couch, instead; crouching low the whole afternoon and walking around merit a nice, long rest on a comfortable couch, after all.

"We should have this in every practice room," Minho says. He throws his head back into the cushion, smiling then he feels his body sinking into the contact. "But then I might end up lounging on the couch half the time. Jinki-hyung will kick my ass."

"So he can have the couch to himself, yes." Kibum shifts in his position so that he's facing Minho. He keeps his hands on his knees. Behind him is the stack of clothes he intends to go through for one last time before finalizing his outfits for the comeback. "Taemin can fall asleep on the floor; he doesn't need the couch."

Minho chuckles. "I don't mind sharing."

"Well, I do."

Minho opens his eyes, turns to his side so that they're facing each other. His eyebrows are furrowed; his lips, quirked in a manner Kibum hasn't seen before. "You mind?" Minho asks, voice heavy with confusion. It's a foreign sound — Kibum's used to confident Choi Minho, not _are you sure, do you know what you're saying, you have to give the answer, Kibum_ kind of Choi Minho, not this.

Kibum nods, smiles. He inches closer until his knees bump into Minho's thigh, close enough that he can take in the scent of Minho's new aftershave, or the new brand of body mist that Jinki recommended to him just a few days ago. New knowledge on Minho, bits of information to be stored for future use.

He reaches up, rests a hand on Minho's shoulder. He tries another smile, but he ends up with a toothy grin. "I'm clingy and possessive."

A smile lights the corners of Minho's lips. "Really? Prove it."

Something familiar — Minho posing a challenge, Minho's eyes boring into his, Minho with his gummy smile and the crinkles in the corner of his eyes and his hair sticking to his cheeks. Something different — Kibum sliding his hand to the back of Minho's neck, curling his fingers on the base, Kibum leaning in until their noses bump. "Don't say things you'll regret, Choi Minho," he whispers, and Minho only lets loose a sound of amusement, one hand coming to rest on Kibum's knee.

"I said, _prove it._ "

Kibum takes a deep breath.

He tilts his head to the left and presses close, until he's met with Minho's lips, soft and supple. This hasn't changed, the way their teeth collide at first, the way Minho licks at the seams of his lips before probing, asking for access. He can feel the upward tug on the corners of Minho's lips, can feel Minho's pulse when Minho's hand moves to his arm to pull him closer. He opens up and Minho kisses deeper, licking the back of his teeth, the cavern of his mouth, hands scrambling for purchase on Kibum's shirt. Minho gasps when Kibum sucks on his tongue and returns the favor soon after, ending by kissing the corners of Kibum's mouth, nipping lightly on Kibum's bottom lip.

"I get it," Minho says after a while. A brush of lips on lips, some laughter, then, "I get it now."

Kibum places a light kiss to Minho's bottom lip. "So do I."

 

 

Jonghyun composes one of the tracks for the repackage album.

"So, a rap-off," Jonghyun says, looking at Kibum, then Minho, then Kibum again. He leans closer and hands the lyrics sheet to them. He drums his fingers on the table as Kibum deliberately goes through each and every line, slips a comment in between, and turns to Minho from time to time to ask, "Am I the only one who thinks this can actually be improved?"

"Maybe…" It's getting harder for Minho to keep it together with the unamused look in Jonghyun's features. "I think it's—"

"Perfect," Kibum supplies. To Jonghyun, he says, "It's wonderful."

Jonghyun leans back in his chair. There's a familiar smile on his lips, one Kibum has come to develop a fondness for over the years, but nothing quite beats Minho's toothy grins, gummy smiles, round eyes looking at him like he's the most amusing person in the world. Kibum gets it now, the secret to success — receptivity to change, _embracing_ change and changing _it_ , spicing it up with your own style. Taking the mundane and the normal and turning it into something amazing with a few tricks. Stepping into the danger zone without protective gear, stepping onstage fashioning only his heart on his sleeve.

"So, when are we recording?" Jonghyun asks. His eyes are glimmering in excitement.

Kibum looks at Minho. He doesn't fight the smile tugging at the corners of his lips when Minho bares his teeth, his sixteen-year-old smile.

"Now."


End file.
